Hamish frowned. Bloodlines? How did that explain his sister when there were no other spellsters in his family?
Ethan nodded, as he’d been doing since Darshan first spoke. His fingers danced nervously on his bow grip. “Are you?” He glanced back at his brothers as Darshan bowed his head. “We were wondering if you could… That is—” His head snapped back around with enough speed that Hamish was almost convinced it would break. “Can you really shoot fire from your fingers?”
Smirking, Darshan flipped his hand with a dramatic flourish. A flame flashed to life in his palm. It snaked and twirled, slowly forming the shape of a person, a man. Just the torso, but it waved its wispy arms as it swayed from side to side in some sort of dance.
Mac inched forward. He reached out, one finger extended towards the fire.
“Do not touch.” Raising his other hand before him in warning, Darshan withdrew his hand. The form of the dancing man dissipated into ordinary fire. “It will burn you as quickly as any other flame.” With another, more exaggerated, flourish of his hand, the spellster snuffed the flame completely.
Ethan brushed at where the fire had been, then his brothers and cousin joined in. All that remained was a thin wisp of smoke as evidence of it ever being there. Hamish couldn’t help but wonder if the flame had actually heated the air. He hadn’t felt anything. Or was the heat more subtle, like a candle?
Sorcha turned to face Darshan. Unlike the boys, curiosity had cloaked her in a sheet of courage. She cradled his hand, examining the palm. “If it burns things, then why didnae it burn your hand?”
Darshan smiled, weathering both unasked-for contact and question with equal grace. “Because, dear girl, it is mine and what is yours does no harm to you. Once it touches something it can burn, then I am a touch more vulnerable. But I have means to counteract the inevitable.”
“Meanwhile,” Hamish said before either of the children could bombard the man with more questions. Darshan might be good-natured about it now, but that could change as swiftly as a rain cloud. “You four will inevitability run out of time to do more training.”
“But—” Ethan began to whine, halting when Hamish held up a finger.
“There’ll be none of that, lad. He’s nae going to vanish in a puff of smoke once your back is turned.”
The boy eyed Darshan as if he wasn’t entirely convinced that couldn’t happen. Hamish wasn’t certain of it himself. The sailors were always bringing strange stories of magical feats. Sifting the truth from the tall tales was often a mission in itself.
“Go on, see if you cannae get a few more into the target before you’re off to Mrs Maggie.”
Groaning, the trio returned to their practise. Sorcha remained at Hamish’s side, her quiver empty and the target full.
Darshan seemed to eye the boys with a smidgen of curiosity. His gaze flicked from them to Hamish. “Yours I trust?”
Hamish blinked, then laughed as he realised what the man was asking. It had to be the hair. It was always the hair. He had the same colour, but the boys had inherited their flaming curls from their sun-tanned, freckled-faced father. “These wee bairns? Nae.” He hoisted his niece, the smallest of the children despite being the eldest, onto his shoulder. “Sorcha here is me brother’s daughter. The rest of the terrors are nephews on me sister’s side.” He smiled fondly at the three boys all lined up before their targets. For once, Mac seemed to be putting the proper amount of effort into the task.
“Who are you calling wee?” protested a voice at his ear. Sorcha still didn’t weigh much, having taken after her rather petite mother.
Although, having seen them next to the spellster, Hamish was sharply reminded of just how tall all the children had grown over the past year.
“I’m almost as tall as me mum,” Sorcha continued. “And I can shoot a bow just as well as she could!”
“Aye, lass. That you can.” Like her daughter, Muireall had made up for her lack of size in attitude. Hamish was certain her sheer commanding presence was why his brother had fallen for the woman, especially when his marriage to her brought little in the way of a connection to a strong clan. He set Sorcha back on her feet. “But she also would’ve collected her arrows by now. Make sure the rest do as well.”
With an excessively toothy grin, she trotted over to the boys. A few quiet words were all it took to have them running for their targets, urging each other on with taunts of reaching theirs first.
Hamish glanced towards the sunrise, shading his eyes with a hand. The light had crept over the outer castle wall, meaning it had to midmorning. “Hurry up, you four, then shift your bums to Mrs Maggie for your lessons. You dinnae want to be late again.”
Laughter and the clatter of discarded weapons answered him, followed swiftly by the thunderous pounding of booted feet as all four of them raced by.
The spellster continued to side eye Hamish as the last of the four ran out of sight. “You have children of your own, though?”
Hamish shook his head as he gathered the bows and now-filled quivers.
The answer had the man’s brows lifting. “Really? I know my lack of understanding when it comes to your culture is less than thorough, but—”
“Did they nae give you lessons?” Hamish enquired, shouldering the quivers and heading for the armoury. “I wouldnae have thought they’d let you be an ambassador without some idea of the people you were to deal with.”
Darshan smiled, tagging along. “I am endeavouring to close the gaps in my knowledge, have no fear there. Nevertheless, I do know that your people marry at a young age and tend to have a great many children.”
“Oh, aye. Me mum would very much prefer if I followed that tradition.”
“But you have chosen
